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  His grin widened. “Sexual, I hope.”

  “No.” I sat taller, ignoring the wickedly pleasant sensation between my legs at the thought of a sexual favor from Nick. “A cooking favor, actually.”

  “A cooking favor? Hmm. Decidedly less exciting, but I’m intrigued nonetheless. Tell you what, cupcake.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go down the street for a drink at Two James. You can ask for your favor, I can stare at your face—and maybe your other circumstances—we can have some whiskey for old times’ sake, and maybe we can work something out.”

  Oh fuck. I knew what I’d feel like working out after “whiskey for old times’ sake” with Nick Lupo, and it had nothing to do with cooking. Could I be trusted to stick to the plan? I looked at his mouth, the first mouth I’d let anywhere near the parts of my body that were warming and tightening up right now. How many nights had I dreamed of those firm, full lips on my skin, just one more time? How many fantasies started and ended with that mouth on mine? How many orgasms had I given myself with his body, his voice, his name in my head? Too many to count, and I’d probably do it again tonight.

  Goddammit, he still got to me.

  My mouth opened, and my mantra escaped. “I’m over you. And I can handle this.”

  Nick burst out laughing, his mouth wide, head thrown back, and my entire body warmed. I’d forgotten how much I loved making him laugh. “Ah, God. I’ve missed you,” he said, tapping my leg. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I can handle this, I repeated, grabbing my purse and scooting quickly toward the door so he wouldn’t be tempted to guide me with a hand on my back. The first part of my mantra was becoming fainter in my brain.

  Channeling my inner Mia, praying she existed somewhere in there, I made some rules for myself. No sitting too close, no touching, and no overdoing it on the memories or the whiskey.

  When we reached the door, Nick moved ahead of me to open it, and I glided by him, catching his scent on the warm air that greeted me. It was so familiar— musky and masculine but summery, like fresh-cut grass, with a hint of something savory too, like maybe he’d been chopping herbs in the kitchen earlier. Pretty soon I’d add whiskey to the mix, and the combination might be lethal.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” His lips curved into a slow, sexy smile and I added a few more rules to the list.

  No smelling him, no looking at his mouth, and absolutely no kissing.

  Great. At this point I was going to have to ask the bartender at Two James for a blindfold, a nose plug, and a muzzle along with my whiskey. And I’d have to sit on my hands until my senses were dulled.

  Guess I’d make that first shot a double.

  To distract myself from the fact that Nick Lupo was walking beside me, that we were actually walking somewhere together after all these years, I began counting the steps it took to get to Two James. This is something Mia taught me to do when I really, really want to buy something but I know I don’t have the money. I count the steps it takes me to leave the store, turn a corner, put it out of my sight. Usually it works, but today the strategy was doomed to fail since the object of my desire was following me. Handbags, hot tubs, and high heels just don’t do that.

  But I tried. That counts, right?

  Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one. Keeping my eyes down, I watched our shoes hit the cement. Nick’s black suede oxfords with bright blue laces seemed to move in slow motion compared to my hurried, anxious steps, and I remembered how he was never the sort of person to rush. It used to drive me crazy, especially when we were running late. We would bicker about it, and one time we got into this insane philosophical discussion about time, and he accused me of always looking at it as running down, like sand in an hourglass. Finite, and slipping away from me.

  But time is finite, I’d argued. And it does slip away, if you’re not careful. You only get so much of it and you have to make choices about how you want to spend it. I don’t believe in putting things off until the next day, waiting for things to go on sale, or driving around looking for a better parking spot just to get ten feet closer. I don’t sit around hoping something will go my way when I can be doing something to make it go my way or get where I want to go, faster.

  I’d accused him of looking at time like an ocean—it seems infinite, like it stretches out in front of you forever, but it doesn’t. Somewhere on the other side is the other shore, and furthermore, the water level is probably shrinking.

  He’d laughed and tackled me, sending me over backward onto the blanket we used to drag outside to drink whiskey and look at stars whenever we were visiting his grandmother’s farm. I hadn’t thought about that argument in years, but his next words came back to me clear as the sky had been that night. “Listen,” he’d said, stretching his long, lean body over mine. “When we’re out here in the country, and I’m looking up at that sky full of stars, somehow I just know that you and me and time and everything in the universe goes on forever. So don’t try to tell me different because I won’t listen.”

  Every cell in my body had vibrated with life and feeling as I looked up at him. He said forever. He said forever. “Forever, huh?”

  He rubbed his whiskey-flavored lips on mine. “Forever.”

  And then for some reason I got scared that he would die young, because he was an idiot and could be reckless and foolish like only a twenty-one year old guy could, and I clutched him to me, opening my mouth and my legs and my heart as wide as possible, like taking him inside me would protect him.

  I should have been worried about protecting myself.

  My heart ached for a moment, remembering how much I’d loved him that night, how much we’d loved each other. I’d wanted so badly to believe he could be right.

  I’d wanted forever.

  “Here we are.” Nick pulled open the door to the distillery, which was housed in an old garage on Michigan Avenue. The circular bar in the center of the tasting room was busy, but one of the bartenders waved hello to Nick and gestured to some empty space in front of him. As he cleared the glasses and wiped the counter, I walked over and took a seat, dropping my purse by my feet. Nick slid onto the chair next to me.

  “Nick.” The bartender, a heavily bearded guy in a blue button-down, reached across the bar and shook Nick’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  “You too, Sebastian. This is my friend Coco.”

  “Nice to meet you, Coco.” Sebastian reached for my hand, and I took it.

  “My pleasure,” I said. “I’m a huge fan of Two James.”

  He smiled. “What can I get for you?”

  “How about the five-spirit tasting flight?” Nick looked at me. “You up for sharing that?”

  “Sure.”

  Sebastian left us, and Nick swiveled his seat to face me, dropping his folded hands between his thighs. “So.”

  I glanced briefly at his wrists, which happened to be resting near his crotch, causing another unwelcome yet pleasant tickle between my legs. I pressed my knees together and forced myself to meet his eyes. “So.”

  He said nothing, just continued looking at me for a moment, and then he tucked his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should. Very unlike him.

  “What?” I squirmed in my seat.

  “What, what?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t help it. You’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than you’ve been in my thoughts, which shouldn’t be possible.”

  Feeling heat in my cheeks, I looked down at the bar and busied myself folding the napkin Sebastian had set there into ever smaller squares. “Don’t.”

  “Come on, you have to let me look at you a little. It’s been so long.”

  I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes, scared that if I did, somehow time would begin rolling backward. “It has been.”

  “Seven years.”

  “Seven years,” I echoed.

  “Seven years, two months, five days, fourteen hours...” He looked at his watch. “And six minutes.”

  My mouth fell open, my heart thudding in my chest. Had he really been keeping track of exactly how long it had been since he’d seen me? “Wait a minute. You seriously know that?”

  He grinned. “Nah, I’m just teasing. But it’s probably close, right?”

  I slapped his leg. “Ugh, I believed you for a second, you asshole. God.” Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the napkin, unfolding it and starting over.

  Nick laughed gently. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” He paused, shifting in his seat. “You know, I can’t decide if it feels like it’s been seven years or seven hours since I last saw you. In a way, it’s like no time has gone by at all.”

  I wondered if he meant that it seemed like I hadn’t changed physically or if he meant that his feelings for me hadn’t changed, that they were rushing to the surface in the uninvited and uncontrollable way mine were. “I know what you mean,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “And then in other ways, it’s clear how much time has passed.” Unable to resist teasing him, I reached over and flicked a finger through the few gray hairs above his ear. “Old man.”

  “Very funny.” He grabbed my wrist and we grappled for a moment, his eyes lighting up as I struggled and failed to get my arm back. My heart started to race as I realized the last time he had my wrist circled like this he was probably fucking me. I froze. Glancing at my arm, he noticed the tattoo I had running from my inner wrist toward my elbow, a quote from a book I’d loved as a child. “Nice. Is it new?”

  “No, not really. I got that one in Paris.” Our eyes met as unspoken history flowed between us.

  “What does it say?” He studied the French script.

  “It says, ‘Here is my secret. It is very simple: one only sees clearly with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.’ It’s from The Little Prince.”

  Nick looked at the tattoo again, so tenderly that for a second I was terrified he would kiss it and I’d be lost. But he didn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  Slowly he brushed his thumb over those words, and the entire room seemed to go still, the air compressing all around me. It was the barest of caresses, but it sent a powerful wave of longing through my body, and called up other memories of his hands running over sensitive skin. He’s got to stop touching me. I can’t take it.

  I sat back in my chair, grateful he allowed me to reclaim my arm. When I spoke, my voice was strained. “No problem. Like I said, I forgive you.”

  A pause, and then he sat back as well. “Aren’t you going to apologize too?”

  I shrank from him. “Am I going to apologize? For what?”

  “For divorcing me so fast. You didn’t even let me explain my decision to leave that night.”

  “Why should I? It was obvious—you didn’t love me enough to stay.” Saying it out loud before he did was important.

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t it at all, Coco. I was crazy about you. Believe it or not, I had what I thought at the time was a pretty good reason.”

  I continued to gape at him. “Nick, you can’t be serious. That decision defied explanation. No reason was good enough to leave me there like that, especially if you loved me.”

  “You’re not even going to let me tell you what it was now? After all this time?”

  I hesitated, wondering at both his reason for wanting to offer an explanation at this point and at my reluctance to hear it. “What’s the point?”

  He shrugged. “It will make me feel better. Wouldn’t it make you feel better?”

  That was actually a good question. Would it make me feel better to hear his “pretty good reason” for leaving me that way? What if it was a lame excuse and I just ended up hating him again? Or—and this could be worse—what if I found his reason decent enough to understand? What if I could be persuaded to see things from his point of view? What if I fell for him all over again?

  No. Just… No. It was bad enough that I was still so attracted to him. I didn’t want to revisit the past, reconsider our actions. No matter what our reasons were for any of the decisions we’d made back then, we’d moved on. I’d moved on. We could be friends going forward, perhaps, but no good would come of going back. Too much damage had been done, too much time had passed, and too much effort had been put into forgetting him. Forgetting the forever he’d promised me. I couldn’t live through it again.

  “I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “If it’s OK with you, I’d like to leave the past where it belongs, let bygones be bygones and all that. Start over as friends.”

  “Friends, huh?” His mouth hooked up. “You think we can be friends?”

  “I think we can certainly try.” A note of false hope crept into my voice. “You know, we’ve never really been friends. We jumped right into a relationship practically the day we met.”

  “True. We did.” He grinned, looking sheepish and charming, just the way he had the day he’d followed me into History 140. It was the second week of classes, and he’d caught my eye as we entered the lecture hall together, my pulse racing when he slid into the row in front of me. How had I not noticed him before? He’d brought nothing to class with him—not a backpack, not a laptop, not even a pencil. But he was so adorable with those big brown eyes and long, thick lashes and that beautiful mouth, I didn’t mind when he kept turning around.

  Hey. I’m Nick.

  Can I borrow a piece of paper? Do you have an extra pen?

  Somehow I managed to focus and get through the lecture, but I spent a good amount of time staring at the back of his head and texting Mia that the hottest guy I’d ever seen in my life was sitting right in front of me in Western Civ, and I really, really, really wanted to lick his neck.

  When class was over, he stood up and handed me back the pen and piece of paper. “Here you go.

  Thanks.”

  Confused, I stared at the paper, which was folded in half.

  “Don’t you need this? I mean, doesn’t it have your notes on it?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t take any notes.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. I’m not even in this class.”

  “Then what are you—”

  “I saw you walking across campus and followed you in here. I wrote my number down on that piece of paper.”

  My mouth falling open in disbelief, I unfolded the paper and read the phone number written there

  before looking at him again. Students streamed by us, but everything beyond his face was a blur. “You sat through a two-hour lecture on the Reformation just to give me your number?”

  He smiled. “If you call me, it was worth it.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  We went for coffee that afternoon, and I found out he worked in one of the dining halls. That night I dragged Mia across campus to it for dinner, and even though it had only been a couple hours since I’d seen him, I practically ran the entire way there. When we caught sight of each other over plates heaped with colorless chicken divan, our matching grins could have lit up Spartan Stadium at midnight. Mia said she’d never seen anything like it.

  Later that evening, we went for a drive in his truck and parked out on some country road. I didn’t lose my virginity that night—I held out another six weeks on that—but I did have my first non-self- induced orgasm, thanks to Nick’s patience, skill, and amazingly supple tongue.

  My core muscles clenched at the memory, and I was glad when Sebastian arrived with our tasting flight, five shot glasses filled with about an ounce each resting on a wooden tray. I half-listened as he gave a spiel about the five different spirits, resisting the urge to grab the nearest one and shoot it straight down my throat, hoping it would numb the desire for Nick that was reawakening in me.

  It’s not desire. It’s just nostalgia.

  “Which would you like first?” Nick asked.

  “Hmm, the gin maybe?” I accepted the glass of clear liquid he handed me and watched him choose the rye.

  He held it up and smiled. “To friendship.”

  “To friendship.”

  We clinked glasses and took a sip, leaving enough so both of us would have a chance to taste them all, and for the next half hour, we chatted about safe topics and sampled the whiskey, rye, gin, and bourbon. We inquired after immediate family, laughed about Lick My Plate, and discussed the rebirth of Corktown with businesses like Two James and The Burger Bar. With each passing minute, I felt more at ease, more like I really was hanging out with an old friend and not a former lover. Part of that was likely due to the alcohol, but I thought as long as we kept the chatter casual and focused on the present, I could remain in possession of my wits, at least outwardly. I picked up the absinthe, which reminded me of Mia.

  “Oh! Remember Mia?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “She’s getting married in two weeks. To this French guy who—”

  “Lucas, I know. He owns The Green Hour.”

  I pouted, feeling both robbed of the opportunity to deliver big news and somehow offended that he knew about something big happening in my life. I didn’t know anything about his life anymore, although it struck me right then that I wanted to. It’s a shame we went so long without speaking. We should have done this sooner. I was too stubborn. “You know Lucas?”

  Nick shrugged. “Sure. He’s been in The Burger Bar a few times, and I’ve gone in The Green Hour too. Someone introduced us at some point. I saw Mia in there once.”

  I froze. “You’ve seen Mia? She didn’t tell me.” And I might have to kill her.

  “Well, when I came in, she ducked out the back door so fast, she probably hoped I didn’t notice her. We didn’t talk, in other words.”

  “Oh.” I love you, Mia. Best friend ever.

  “Lucas is a great guy. And The Green Hour is doing really well, I hear.”

  I sipped the absinthe and handed it to Nick. “He is a great guy. And he’s crazy about Mia. They’re great for each other.”

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